


Flipside

by ToastyDehmer



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToastyDehmer/pseuds/ToastyDehmer
Summary: Is the moon aware of it's own darkside? And what happens when the moon is forced to become aware of...It?
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	Flipside

**Author's Note:**

> Weird how sleep deprivation spawns ideas, huh?

_~Dreams and expectations also have the very dark flipside of disappointment, broken dreams~_

_James Franco_

There are always two sides to a coin. Remember that. Keep it in mind. It’s more important than anyone could ever say. Because in reference to another person, it means there’s always a side of them that’s hidden. No one knows of it but them, of course. It is but a side, a facet, and it is unable to stand independently of the whole yet hidden like the dark side of the moon. But...is the moon aware of its hidden parts?

On the Nightmare Throne, Wilson found a new side of him. At the time it had been brilliant. So much knowledge, so much power, so much insight. Whispers from Them had been a constant companion and Wilson had gleefully listened with both ears. He was enchanted by those whispers...and warped. Warped into something unsightly. Something ghastly. The kind of something that made Wilson judge his own character. Judge. And doubt.

Had he always been so...sadistic? So vile? Was there some part of him that found joy in tormenting others? Was this really a part of who he was?

But those questions came after, not during. Not when he was enjoying it all too much to care about the consequences, or care about the fact that there would be any in the first place. He loved it, _adored_ it. Hungered for it when the whispers fell silent. And in the aftermath, that scared him.

Wilson was a scientist. Not a- a power-hungry, perverted experimentalist. Not-...

Not that _thing._

The Shadow King.

A tyrant. A sociopath. A psychotic bastard.

Maxwell gave bargains alright. He made deals like he invented the concept himself. The devil incarnate. But if Wilson had to give him one thing, it was that he followed through on them. Sure it took forever to get to that point and in the end they became enemies again but in that world… Maxwell kept his word. Whatever Wilson wanted, whenever he wanted, he got. Pigs? A platoon’s worth. Gold? Enough to choke those pigs. Gems? Enough to turn their skulls into pretty decorations and thensome.

Maxwell made deals and kept to them.

The Shadow King though? He wasn’t a ‘benevolent’ helper. Or even an honest one. Asking for something from him was like saying something open-ended to a lawyer on the opposite team and believing they wouldn’t find every loophole possible to exploit. The Shadow King made deals like a Djinn would.

The Shadow King was dishonest.

Wilson, the other side of the same coin, was honest.

Wilson tried to be kind, to listen, to be patient and calm and caring and this other part of him-

It was snide. It was cruel. It was inhuman, it was unnatural. It followed no order, no law, no rhythm or pattern or rhyme or reason.

Wilson hated It.

He hated this new side of his coin and when he was violently ripped from that throne, that visage of himself disappeared, shuttered once more behind the curtain, Wilson only had one thought.

_‘Good riddance.’_

And that was the end of it. Except it wasn’t.

Wilson came out of that portal the same way he went in, tossed. Thrown hard without a care as to what condition he would end up in once he came out the other side. He hit the ground, his vision swimming, his stomach rolling, and his cotton-filled-head pounding. Through the grass he rolled and slid until he came to an abrupt yet natural stop. Wilson softly groaned, eyes clenched shut, head spinning despite not having moved a single inch yet. And then a cough.

A cough that wasn’t from him.

Dark eyes immediately opened only to tightly shut again with a pained hissed, his body curling up even tighter on the cold ground. His body was aching. Despite that, he wanted to be able to stand, to guard himself. Wilson wanted to be at the ready because he never arrived with someone before and to have that suddenly change was-

It should be good. A change like that should only reassure Wilson but really it… it terrified him.

A hiss, a growl. The sounds of someone getting up, patting themselves down, and then, “That stupid _slut_.”

Wilson froze. His eyes popped right back open and stared. Clarity dripped into him, flowed through him like ice water. And he stared with his pain forgotten.

He had to have made a sound. It was the only explanation Wilson had to be noticed so suddenly.

A pinstripe suit the same as Maxwell’s except white on black. Thin, waifish frame. Clawed hands hidden underneath dark, dark gloves. Familiar (if wilder) thick hair. Skin as pale as a bedsheet. Lips wickedly set. Nose set at an ominously beautiful point. Sunken in eyes just as dark as his own with gold hidden in depths that looked too impossibly endless and hollow.

“You,” Wilson breathed.

“Well ain’t this quite the treat for me!” The Shadow King chortled.

A coin was never meant to be split and still only be the two sides.

The sides were never meant to be _independent of each other._

Wilson stood, slowly. His muscles wavered and threatened to give up but he stood. And he was silent.

“Say buddy, how you feelin’?” It mockingly asked with a razor-sharp, satirical grin and opened arm. Like it was welcoming an old friend.

Wilson slunk closer, his pace hindered by the aches and pains his body was feeling. He ignored them. And kept his silence.

“Gotta say, reeeeeally didn’t expect to see you again.” Teeth sharp as a shark’s gleamed at him from between two thin lips. A silent threat.

Wilson internally seethed with fists held tight and shuffling feet inching him closer.

“What? Nothing to say?” Wilson came in close enough to smell the smoke and sulfuric acid that lingered on It like a bad cologne. Of course, that grin turned smooth and deadly. It was the same look It gave to those innocents before offering them their troubles on a silver platter parading around as a five course meal. And It leaned down, leaned in, got close into Wilson’s face, and taunted, “ _Maxwell got your tongue?_ ”

Wilson screamed. And swung. The look of glee on It’s face was quickly replaced with surprise, predatory eyes wide (did he really expect Wilson wouldn’t do _something?_ ) before shock was smacked on with a left hook. Literally. The dethroned King grunted and landed back on his ass. But Wilson cried out and fell to his knees, hands clutching the right side of his face.

Iron sat in his mouth. Wilson flicked out his tongue and yelped.

“What-? I don’t _bleed_ ,” came It’s hissed voice.

Wilson slowly pried his hands away from his face and looked down to see blood, bright red, painting his fingertips.

“Oh,” It said, plaintive. He looked at It and saw a split lip. In the same exact spot as Wilson’s. It’s face had lost all joy. It looked over Wilson with hooded, jaded eyes. Bored...and unimpressed with what It saw. “What. A. _Joy._ ”

Wilson sneered at the Shadow King.

_‘The feeling is mutual.’_

**Author's Note:**

> There might be more of this, there might not. Got the inspiration from an rp where the other person bailed after I had to go do something quick. Even said I would be back but oh well! Made this in the end so I think it turned out fine.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think down in the comments! I may not always respond but I read each and every single one of them and adore them to bits!!!


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